Simone and Amelia just escaped from Sicily before Etna's flare-up grounded a few flights from Catania - and showed us the pictures his daughter had sent of the fire-spewing volcanao, from her bedroom just after they left. They arrived at Fumicino about half an hour before us, so - once we had found each other at different terminals at a huge airport, with the help of whatsapp pics - we all travelled to the hotel together. We could have been in an Agatha Christie novel - and the lift was a complete work of art, that could have come straight down to us fron the 1930s to take us to Piano 4. Shame it didn't have a lift man in a unform to press the buttons for us, and rumour of a ghost with a murder to investigate.
Arriving at about 2200, followed by about half an hour's confusion about who had already had rooms paid for (Simone, Amelia and myself) and who had paid for themself (Neels) made it a bit late to go searching for somewhere to eat. Perhaps it was actually more Fawlty Towers than Murder on the Orient Express. The confused man (Manuel?) at the hotel reception recommended somewhere near Termini train station which at first appeared to be a building site, until we realised it was a sandwich bar without any sandwiches left. So we wandered back towards the hotel and were seduced into a restaurant with pavement tent and lots of Christmas lights by their tourist hustler. But it was just fine, and we didn't go to bed with empty tummies - and the hotel was almost next door.
In the midst of all this I had an other-worldy experience in a small grocery shop with a very large neon sign above the door advertising the fact thet they sold condoms - although they also had everything else a corner shop should have too, and I didn't even see the condoms. After accidentally offering the shopkeeper Canadian dollars for a couple of bottles of fizzy water. It was clear he thought I was out of touch with reality and quite probably mad. I then offered him a UK debit card which would not work which ever of the various methods he used on his terminal. He was now convinced that I was also a criminal, as well as mad. I slunk off, muttering under my breath. Neels tells me that this is a perfect educational experience for me - as it is very like what it can feel to be 'a person with lived experience'...
Given the usual experience of Italian starting times, we had breakfast and bowled up about 15 minutes late - and were completely surprised to find that the first talk had begun! What has happend in Italy? Have they had a revolution since Covid?
We sat at the back (audience about 60) but were soon called to the front, to have Amelia's introductory talk translated for us by the brillant blue-haired Andre. (Brilliant hair AND brilliant chap!) Even more reassuring, Amelia was saying things that we completely agreed with - for example about how the whole world is irredeemably screwed-up and there's no point in hiding... I said it all again with a different spin - and had some very interesting discussion afterwards about how Basaglia politicised mental health and TCs, and in the UK, Laing was never seriously politicised - and the British TC approach had become ever more bureaucratic and and politically moribund since. But at least we're going to do some different and politicise the Relational Practice Movement!
The tech was as problematic as ever in a conference - with a projector that turned off when ever Simone tried to say anything, then later howled at 150 decibels whenever he touched a microphone. It seemed to have something against him. I was luckier - a very sharp and efficient venue technician sorted out my HDMI compatibility in no time flat, so I could play the RPM video without a hitch. Sadly she was nowhere to be found when the system later declared war on Simone. Another bit of interesting tech was Google live translate - so the words appear on your phone screen in English a couple of seconds after they had been spoken in Italian. Although it now seems much more confident that when I was last using it here before covid, and you could get the general gist of things, it never made perfect sense - it did a few good howlers, so Simone was promoted to 'Prime Minister', Neels was 'Bedlam' ('later Dr Bedlam'), and nobody was said to be having sex. True, I suppose, at the time - but how did it know?
The afternoon was the regular jamboree of shaking hands, giving certificates, clapping, smiling and generally celebrating all the hard work and demanding training that everybody in the Visiting Project had accomplished in the past year. Well done, all - it was a truly joyous occasion.
Afterwards, we had arranged to meet Giuseppe Salamina - a senior government public health doctor who we met at the last CMH gathering at Coed Hills. He is very interested in promoting progressive and relational approaches through his work with high-level EU health networks (boo, hisss - won't include us then!). We talked and fantasised about everything we could do together if it wasn't for Brexit, in a pavement cafe over a drink, and he then took us to meet his long-time friend and colleague Umberta Telfener - who lives in a beautiful flat overlooking the Colisseum, glowing with orange lights and projections of Roman Emperors. She is President of a European Family Therapy Association, and was very much in tune with our ideas about things needing a strong push in the direction of relational practice. However, after a little more of her red wine and chili cheese, she got slightly colder feet when we revealed the utter and unrealistic grandiosity of our plans h- to push RP into every corner of public life, in the UK and beyond. After a very congenial hour or so, we wandered back - with Giuseppe saying 'No, go for it!'. We arrive almost in time (Italian Time) for the jolly and convivial conference dinner, with about thirty of us taking over a small restaurant for the evening. And so to bed.
Sunday was an important occasion for the Visiting Project - to propose and vote on whether the project should start the process of accreditation through ISO. Without this, the member services are not recognised by the Italian health service - but it does mean increased costs, bureaucracy and general move in a direction favouring private sector enterprises. But after what seemed to be exhaustive discussion (not to say argy-bargy) which was almost compleletey incomprehensible to us and Google translate, the vote was carried unanimously. The next phase of the post-Basaglia politicisation of therapeutic communities starts here.
After a quick taxi to the Pope's place and Piazza Navona, it was to meet Edoardo at Termini station for the 1655 train to Udine - arriving at 2305. Very fast and smooth - but a long way to somewhere nearly ten degrees colder, just shy of the Alps and Slovenia. Now we're in a clean and friendly AirB&B for the next four nights - in a district with mostly offices, cafes, and posh champagne shops.
Tomorrow is another day, and another story.
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